Chapter Three:

Sherlock looked even more exquisite today than he had yesterday. If Taylor Dennis thought that he could not possibly fall harder for the tall brunette, he was mistaken.

He could faintly hear the smooth baritone of Sherlock's voice as he watched him from afar.

Oh, how long had it been since he had heard that voice speak to him, or see his striking blue, green eyes boring into his soul? Taylor didn't even have to think about it. He knew down to the day how long it had been. One year, six months and eight days.

When he had met Sherlock he was broken. He had wanted nothing more than to put him back together again, so he had asked to be the nurse in charge of his care during his time in rehab.

And he eventually succeeded. The broken shell of a man had become an exquisite masterpiece right before his eyes.

Sherlock spoke to no one in that place except for him. He had told him stories of how he had put away murderer's, rapists, kidnappers, and Taylor was thoroughly charmed.

When he had found out that Sherlock would be leaving in a week, he had let his feelings be known.

Sherlock had explained to him that he did not feel attraction towards anybody, and never had, and while Taylor had been disappointed, a part of him thought it fitting.

Something so beautiful shouldn't be tied down to something as trivial as love or attraction.

No. It was better that Sherlock remain untouched, perfect.

He was brought back from his inner thoughts by the sound of laughter. Sherlock's laughter.

God, he was amazing. He wished that it could be him that made him laugh like that, but Sherlock had chosen that Doctor.

It was hard to remain passive when that man got to spend so much time with Sherlock, but he always calmed himself. After all Sherlock felt nothing for that Doctor. He didn't feel things for anyone.

A shout in the distance had Taylor turning to see a blonde woman standing on the street, yelling in Sherlock's direction.

Bits and pieces of the conversation carried over to him, causing him to shiver with fury.

He must have heard wrong, right? Sherlock didn't feel those kinds of things.

He didn't want that Doctor. He didn't want anyone.

More yelling shot through the empty street but Taylor couldn't hear over the sound of his own blood rushing through his body.

That doctor had to have forced this on Sherlock. That's the only way-

Yes. John Watson had forced Sherlock.

This wasn't Sherlock's fault. He was being taken in by that vile man.

How dare he! How dare he try to take what belonged to no one. Sherlock Holmes was untouchable.

He had to calm himself. Punishment would come to John Watson, but he had to remain hidden for now.

He made himself take a few deep breaths, but it was doing him no good.

That disgrace was dirtying up Sherlock's coat with his foul stench. He was putting his hand on him, pulling Sherlock to him, as if he had the right.

He had to go home. He could not follow them home. It would do no good to be sloppy. He needed to save Sherlock and the only way he could do that would be to send him a message.

Sherlock would soon be free from his prison. Taylor would make certain of this.

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Sunday afternoon. It was always peaceful around the flat. Sherlock, like most every other Sunday was out. John had taken the morning to tidy up around the flat and now he hat in his chair sipping his tea slowly as he read a book.

All good things had to come to end though, especially if your were flat mates with one Sherlock Holmes.

The man in question had just flung open the door, the scent of cigarette smoke wafting over towards John, making him wrinkle his nose slightly.

"Sherlock, you were doing so well." He said disappointed.

Sherlock gave him a scathing look before flopping into his own chair.

"You have no idea what it's like, John." Sherlock began.

John shot him a dark look.

"If you start in on me about how ordinary my brain is again, Sherlock, I won't be responsible for my actions. I'm still quite annoyed with you over last night." John warned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Last night doesn't matter, John." He whined. "Nothing matter's except finding a new case."

"Have you checked the blog?" John asked, setting his book onto the coffee table.

"Of course I checked the blog, John. There was nothing!" Sherlock shouted as he got up and started pacing. "No kidnappings! No murder! Why can't someone just die already?" He asked, falling onto the sofa dramatically.

"Bit not good, Sherlock." John reprimanded. "Normal people generally don't wish for murder to befall someone."

Sherlock sunk deeper into the cushions and huffed.

"Well, I'm far from normal, John."

John snorted.

"Oh, you got that right." He replied.

After a few minutes of quiet passed, John picked up his book again and began reading. He had nearly gotten through an entire chapter when Sherlock spoke again.

"John?" Ha called roughly.

John sighed and looked over to his sullen friend.

"Yes, Sherlock?"

"I'm bored." He complained.

"Why don't you tidy up your bedroom?" John suggested, knowing the idea would be shot down.

"Tedious." Sherlock said as he turned on his side facing John. "Let's play a board game, John."

John lifted his brow, shaking his head minutely.

"Ah, no. We will not be playing a board game ever again, Sherlock. You already know they are banned."

Sherlock huffed, indignantly.

"Just because I always win." He remarked.

"No. It's because you never follow the rules because you are a sore loser." John explained. "Why don't you visit with Molly. I'm sure she probably has all kinds of body parts for you to choose from."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

"Don't try to manage me, John. I'm not a child." Sherlock complained.

"Then stop acting like one." John answered as he pulled his book closer. "And let me read in peace."

Sherlock let out a loud breath but quieted after that. John had gotten maybe ten pages further into the book when Sherlock broke the silence yet again.

"John?" He called out.

John just kept reading.

"John?" Sherlock whined this time. Still no response.

A piece of balled up paper smacked John in the face, causing him to jump.

"What, Sherlock? What?" He asked, exasperated.

"Entertain me." Sherlock replied as he sat up.

"Entertain you? What are you, seven?" John said disbelieving.

Sherlock ignored the jibe.

"There is no case and you won't permit me to smoke, therefore it falls on you to keep me preoccupied."

John huffed, rolling his eyes, but put his book down.

"Fine. What do you want to do?" John asked.

"Teach me some fighting techniques." Sherlock answered almost immediately.

"I thought you trained in hand to hand combat already." John commented.

"I have studied it, but I could stand to learn some more. You are quite a gifted fighter. I thought you could teach me some things." Sherlock said, hopeful.

John smiled lightly, pleased at his friends praise.

"I guess I could give you some pointers about your stance and your hand placement, maybe teach you some close combat escape maneuvers." He said, looking around.

"We'll need to move around some furniture then."

1 hour later

"Damn." John wheezed out through harsh breaths from his position on the floor. Sherlock sat straddling his thighs, breaths coming just as fast, with a victorious look plastered on his face.

"I do believe I won this time." Sherlock said smugly as he momentarily tightened his grip on John's wrists before loosening them up again.

John rolled his eyes.

"You know I only let you win to help build your confidence." He remarked while maneuvering his legs to break free.

Sherlock brought both of his feet inward, pressing down hard right at John's knees, stopping the movement.

He smiled smugly again.

"I think I have in fact beaten you." He said leaning forward to switch his hold, grasping one of John's wrists in each hand and pushing them down firmly above John's head. "You should admit defeat, John."

John flustered slightly as he tried wiggling out of Sherlock's grasp and failed once again. He looked up at his friend, who was regarding him with a knowing smile. The smug bastard. Thinking quickly, John only saw one course of action. Playing dirty, because there was no way in hell he was ever going to admit defeat to Sherlock Holmes.

"My shoulder." John wheezed out. "You're….it hurts." He said putting it on thick. He saw the immediate worry in Sherlock's eyes as he felt him loosen his grip dramatically.

John wasted no time in reversing their positions, and grinned down at his friend as what happened sunk in.

"Faking injury is not fair, John." Sherlock pouted. He tried to break free a couple more times before giving up and glaring up at his friend.

"There is no fair in a fight, Sherlock." He said, his smile growing. "Now, you admit defeat and I'll make us some tea." He said, tightening his grip on Sherlock's wrists.

Sherlock said nothing through his labored breaths. He had most likely used up all of his energy on the last failed attempt to break free.

He was sweating slightly, his cheeks tinged a light shade of pink, his chest heaving from his exertion. He looked utterly debauched.

Sherlock's shirt had ridden up during the struggled to reveal the pale, smooth skin of his stomach and John eyes decided to take on a life of their own and raked across his torso, stopping, focusing intently where his bottoms clung low on his narrow hips.

What the actual fuck? John thought to himself. He needed to stop looking.

The last thing he needed was to be caught out staring and Sherlock getting the wrong idea, but Sherlock just looked so…..different right now.

Yes. That had to be it. John had never seen Sherlock like this. All disheveled and….and breathing all heavy.

"John." Sherlock called and even his voice sounded wrecked. Something low in the pit of John's stomach tightened and he shot his eyes up to his friends.

Sherlock looked slightly irritated as he darted his tongue out across his slightly dry lips and spoke.

John's eyes had zeroed in on the movement like a homing missile. What the fuck was wrong with him? He knew Sherlock had said something, but all he was picking up was the rushing of his own blood in his ears and holy fucking christ, was he actually getting aroused by this? A quick look downward confirmed his fears.

How the bloody hell was he supposed to hide a semi-erection from Sherlock. He was practically straddling him.

"John, did you hear me?" Sherlock said annoyed.

Shit! Shit! Shit! He was starting to freak out. He had to get it together. Calm the fuck down. His body was probably just confused by their position. It had been a week since he and his now ex-girlfriend had shagged and his body reacted to their proximity.

Not Gay. John thought. Just horny.

"Sorry. What did you say?" John asked taking deliberate slow breaths as he looked down at his friend.

Sherlock huffed in annoyance, his breath coming out in a hot puff against John's neck, and he felt it all the way down to his toes.

Shit! He needed to get a handle on this.

Think…..Mycroft in a g-string vacuuming his flat.

Bloody hell that was vile, but it was doing the trick. He looked back to Sherlock as he spoke.

"I said I admit defeat. Now let me up and make me tea." Sherlock demanded petulantly.

John gave one more cursory glance down at his now very uninterested dick and leaped off his friend as quickly as was humanly possible and bounded into the kitchen to make the tea.

Tonight he needed to go out, get very well shagged, and he would be fine.